


it takes an ocean not to break

by rumpledlinen



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Arranged Marriage, F/F, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-19
Updated: 2013-04-19
Packaged: 2017-12-08 22:54:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/767004
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rumpledlinen/pseuds/rumpledlinen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Molly Hooper, abroad for a year at University in America, fights and dates and learns and somehow, falls in love.</p><p>(or, a pseudo-arranged marriage AU.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	it takes an ocean not to break

**Author's Note:**

> Wow. This has been surprisingly fun. :) I'd like to thank my lovely beta Katherine, and everyone who let me flail at them about this fic (it's a lot of people, I haven't been able to shut up about this for ages). There is some _amazing_ art to be found here: http://croissantkatie.dreamwidth.org/37293.html . 
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock; the characters are property of BBC. I just play with them. :)

"Molly Hooper!”

Molly turns her head toward Casey, grimacing at the look on her face. “Yes?” she asks, a bit frightened.

“You need to get on the floor. Now.”

“I’m not a waitress, I’m -”

“Molly, I don’t care what you are. We have customers out there trying to make their orders, and you’re the only one who can take care of them. Get out there.” She tosses her a _Casey’s_ shirt and grimaces. “Please.” She pauses, tilting her head. "And fix your hair." She twists a bit of Molly's hair between her fingers. "You look frazzled."

 _I am_ , Molly thinks but doesn't say; she simply nods and goes out there, tying her hair up and making sure she looks halfway decent. (She took this job because she didn’t want to deal with people, because she needed the money, and because she’s always, _always_ loved baking. She’ll do what she has to, though.)

“Welcome to Casey’s,” she tells the harried-looking woman standing by the counter. “Might I interest you in some of our -”

“I don’t care what your specials are,” the woman grunts, crossing her arms over her chest. Her lower lip curls, and she looks Molly up and down, distaste in her eyes. “I need a dozen red velvet cupcakes by next Tuesday. And I need a pineapple upside-down cake.”

“All right,” Molly says, scribbling that down. She looks up, showing her teeth. “And is that cake for Tuesday as well?”

“What? No,” the woman snaps. “The cake is for today.”

“All right,” she says again, smiling wide; she hopes there’s no lipstick on her teeth, she forgot to check for that. “That’ll be $25.17.”

“It’s a rip-off,” the woman grunts, but she pulls out her purse and tosses the money onto the counter. “A total rip-off. You mind telling your boss that?”

"But it's delicious!" Molly laughs as she takes the money.

"Doesn't change anything." The woman narrows her eyes. "Tell your boss."

“Absolutely,” Molly says, forced grin still in place. “I’ll be sure to tell her. If you’ll wait right here, I’ll go get that cake for you.”

“And be quick about it.”

Bitch, Molly thinks when she walks back, and feels guilty for it; it’s not the woman’s fault, she’s probably had a bad day.

She grabs the cake and goes out there with a smile on her face, slightly more real than it was before (but only slightly). “Have a great day,” she tells the woman, and gets only a grunt in return.

She sighs, adjusts her shirt, and goes onto the next customer.

*

“You really need to quit your job,” Greg says, later that evening.

Molly shakes her head, adjusting her computer on her desk so that she can pull her legs up to her chest. She leans her head on her knees. “I can’t, though. I need the money - and I do love it. I’m just not essential, I guess.” She shrugs.

Greg laughs. “Mols, you’re the most important woman in the whole fucking country. And this one, too.”

Molly rolls her eyes, but smiles, pressing her teeth into her knee. “You’re nice,” she whispers.

“I’m not kind enough.” Greg leans forward, and she watches him with a small smile on her face. “You’re really great.” (She feels almost fragile, at the words.)

“And that’s why you’re my best friend.” Molly laughs, wiping at the side of her eyes for stray tears that have somehow managed to show up. “You always make me feel better.”

Greg smiles, leaning back in his chair, and entwines his fingers on his stomach. “Well, you know, I try.”

“You’re great,” Molly says, earnest. “Really.”

“You, too, Mols.”

Sally walks in then, and Molly turns around to wave to her. “Come say hi to Greg!”

She gets a good-natured eye-roll in return but then Sally walks over, tossing her purse onto the futon. “Hey, Greg, how are you doing?”

He shrugs. “Could be better, y’know. Think my boss’s going to give me a raise sometime - that’s something.”

“If he doesn’t, I say you quit. Leave the bastard and that fucking  _paper_ to die.” Sally laughs. “You won’t listen to me, though. You and your ‘morals’.”

“It’s not morals so much as ‘wanting to keep my job’,” Greg says, laughing. “I do actually like reporting, you know.”

“Sure. And I like being a broke uni student.” Sally shakes her head. “I don’t understand you two. You take all of this shit from your bosses – if I had that, I’d be out of there so fast I wouldn’t know what to do with myself.”

“You work at the _library_ , though. Your boss couldn’t be mean if she tried.” Molly looks at Greg, wide-eyed. "It's true. It's almost frightening."

Sally shrugs. “Why do you think I’m working there?”

Molly smiles and shakes her head as Sally walks away.

Their conversation turns soft, sweet, and by the time Molly looks at the clock again, it’s 1 in the morning and Sally’s asleep on the futon, half-snoring. “I think I’m going to go to bed,” she whispers, and smiles, wide. “Thanks for making me feel better.”

“Anytime. G’night, Mols.”

She shuts off Skype and crawls into her bed, asleep by the time her head hits the pillow.

*

(She doesn’t talk to her parents much. They just ask her when she’s going to find a nice man, when she’s going to finally settle down, start studying for a real degree, as though medicine isn’t _real_.

And as though men are her only choice (but she's not explaining that, not to them).

She moved here, in part, to get away from that. She’s not going to give in and listen to all of it. She’s not good with confrontation, with fighting with them over her own life.)

*

"You’re fired,” Casey tells Molly, on a Tuesday afternoon, after her shift.

“I - what, why?” Molly asks, desperate. Her hands shake, holding her apron.

“You’re not essential. We’re losing business. I’m sorry,” and for her credit, Casey does genuinely look sorry. Molly can’t bring herself to care about that, however.

“Isn’t there - can’t I stay on part-time, or something? Anything?”

“I’m afraid not. I’m sorry, Molly.”

Molly uncrumples and, very carefully, folds it, placing it on the chair in Casey’s office. “It’s all right,” because if there’s one thing her mother taught her, it’s that manners are always, always important, no matter who you’re talking to. _This isn’t Casey’s fault_ , she tells herself; this is the town that they live in and the way the tides have come in. She can’t blame anyone for this.

She does wish that were the case, however. She wishes there were someone to blame, someone at fault. Instead, she just has this sort of anger in her, anger she doesn’t really know what to do with. Sally’s fond of telling her that she’s got to have all sorts of repressed things, deep down in her, but that’s not so. Molly just doesn’t get angry like other people do. She gets irritated, sure, but more often than not she wants to help, in any way that she can. Anger only gets in the way of that.

(Anger means she isn't in control of herself; she always, always wants to be in control.)

“What’s wrong?” Sally asks, when Molly walks in.

Molly shakes her head, arms crossed across her chest. "Nothing."

“You’re not fooling me. What happened?”

She breathes out through her nose, harsh. “I got fired.”

“What? Why?”

“They said I wasn’t - erm - essential, so they had to let me go.” Molly shrugs, and sniffles, feeling a few tears in the corners of her eyes (and oh, isn’t that lovely).

“Those bitches.”

“Sally, no, that’s not it -” but there’s no stopping Sally Donovan when she becomes convinced of something. It’s one of the reasons she’s Molly’s best friend.

“That is it. They let you go because - what, because you’re not essential? Have they seen how hard you work? And how _nice_ you are? They're going to have to try to find another you - and that's impossible, you're one of a kind. Fuck them, I say. Fuck that whole place. Do you want ice cream?”

(The really lovely thing about Sally, Molly thinks, is that she can always tell when certain things bother other people. She doesn’t judge, or mock, not when it really matters; she just offers help in any way she can.)

“Butterscotch,” Molly says, smiling, and wipes her hand across her eyes. “And I’m sorry for always turning into a mess, I just - I thought this job would be - somewhat permanent, at least.” She shrugs. "I needed it to be."

“I know you did.” Sally’s face is sympathetic but not pitying. “And you know what? I got free cupcakes. I’m going to miss them.”

“I have the recipe.”

Sally’s face lights up, and Molly giggles.

“I’ll bake you some when - well, I suppose, when I get another job and some more money.” She sighs, and shakes her head. “Y'know what, I think I’ll skip the ice cream.”

“I’ll pay.”

“You don’t need to -”

“What, cheer you up?” Sally slings an arm around her shoulder, smiling. Her eyes sparkle. “Yes, I do, actually.”

Molly smiles, giving her a kiss on the cheek. “Thanks,” she whispers, and she means it.

“Anytime. Now!” Sally claps her hands. “Want to watch a movie?”

“Yeah.”

“It can be anything.”

Molly narrows her eyes. “And if I pick _The Notebook_ again?”

Sally pauses, chewing on her lip. “Almost anything.”

Molly laughs, shaking her head. “I’m sorry my taste in movies is abysmal.”

“I wouldn’t say that bad.” Sally gives her a half-grin. “Now, you pick something on Netflix - anything with a coherent plot and characters with real personalities - and I’ll go out and get snacks. Okay? Okay.” She kisses Molly on the forehead and smiles.

Molly watches her leave and sighs out, staring at her cellphone. She wants to call her family but she knows what they’ll say; they’ll give her some sort of ultimatum, try to get her to do what they want in order to keep going to school.

She doesn’t want to do that, though. She came to America, as far from them as she could get, so that they wouldn’t be able to watch over her anymore; she wants to be able to make her own decisions about her life.

Sally gets back and they sort of cuddle on the couch, Molly’s head resting on her shoulder. Sally wraps her arm around her as they press play on the movie ( _The Notebook_ , because Molly knows that Sally can never really say no to her). Molly kisses her fingertips and holds on, snuggles in closer to her. (Her heart races, but she tries to ignore it.)

Somewhere around the midpoint, Sally leans down and kisses her on the forehead, lingering just long enough to make Molly’s heart flutter.

She looks up and Sally looks scared, but – sure, and she kisses Molly, chaste.

Molly sighs out, deep, and reaches up to pull her down by the neck. “ _Oh_ ,” falls out of her mouth when they separate, and she bites her lip.

“Jesus,” Sally sighs out, and she kisses her again, maneuvering them so Molly’s on her back, pressed into the couch. “ _Jesus_ , Mols.”

She doesn’t say anything to that, just leans up to kiss Sally’s neck, feather-light kisses that turn into small bites.

They don’t get very far; Molly’s fingers end up on Sally’s waist but Sally shrinks away from that a bit, so she doesn’t move any farther. (She’s not going to scare her off, not after so long of wanting this.)

After a long, long while (the movie’s over and the end screen’s been on repeat for ages) Sally pulls away to look at her. “Are we doing this?” she asks, biting at her lip.

Molly smiles. “If you want to,” and she means it (and hopes, _hopes_ that she does).

“I do,” Sally says, sounding relieved, “yeah, I definitely do.”

Molly’s smile widens, and she kisses her one more time before standing up, turning the movie off. “I’ll, um – I’ll just –”

“Yeah,” Sally says, smiling, and runs a hand through her hair. “I’ll – me, too.”

Molly laughs, shaky, and crosses the room again to kiss her, push her back into the couch for a brief moment. “I’m happy,” she says, “are you happy?”

“Of course!” Sally insists, smiling, wide. “Of course I am.”

“Good.” Molly bites her lip. “Good night, Sally.”

“Night, Mols.”

*

Things change as much as they don’t.

Now, there’s kissing – and Molly can barely wrap her head around that, the constant _kissing_ , hellos and goodbyes and everything in between.

(She’s wanted Sally since they were little but she’s not gay, not totally, she’s just – Molly, interested in men except when she isn’t.)

They kiss but she keeps it a secret from everyone. They don’t ever have _that talk_ ; they just kiss and smile and cuddle, and everything is more between them, but Molly's not sure what they’re doing.

She’s happy, though. She doesn’t need to know more than that. She doesn’t need flowers and chocolates; all she needs is a person to come home to, a person to hug and breathe in. That can be romantic or not. Molly honestly doesn’t mind if they never really “get together”. (She knows how she feels, and she can guess at how Sally does. If she’s wrong, oh, well.)

*

“You okay?” Greg asks Molly, one evening.

Molly pulls her legs up to her chest, and half-shrugs. Her hair’s in a plait on the side of her neck, and she twists the ends of it. “What do you mean?”

“You’ve been acting weird lately.”

She half-smiles. “Gee, thanks.”

He tsks at her, and shakes his head. “You know what I meant.”

“No, I don’t.” She shrugs, and looks toward the door without really meaning to. (She doesn’t know where Sally is; she should be home by now. She shouldn’t care, but she does.)

“ _Molly_.” He sounds exasperated. “Will you just tell me what’s going on?”

“Nothing!” She smiles and then turns it into a frown. “Oh. I lost my job. Did I tell you that?”

“What?

She nods, laughing a bit. “Two weeks ago. I don’t – so if I’ve been out of it lately, that’s why.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“Save it.” She shakes her head. “I don’t need your pity, Greg. I’m just letting you know.”

“I’m not –”

Sally comes in then, hair a mess, carrying what looks like twenty bags and looking harried. “Could I have a hand?”

“Greg, I’m going to have to let you go.” Molly shoots a smile at the screen and shuts the laptop, standing up, ignoring Greg’s protest. “How are you doing?”

“Really well – I was hanging out with, um, Anderson, you know him?”

Molly frowns, and nods. “I know him, yeah.”

“Oh, come on.” Sally half-smiles. “He’s not that bad when you get to know him.”

“If you say so.” Molly wipes her hands on the sides of her jeans. “Is there anything I can help you with?”

“Oh! Yeah. We went shopping and I couldn’t carry everything. Help?”

“Of course.” Molly smiles, and it’s only a little bit forced.

She gets a call when they’re walking up the stairs. She groans and ignores it; her arms are full. It’s not until they get back to the room that she can look at it, and when she does she shakes her head and buries her head in a pillow.

“What’s wrong?” Sally asks, rummaging in a cupboard. She pops her head out. “Mols?”

“My mum called me.”

“So?”

“I just told Greg I lost my job. Something tells me that – well, he must have told them.”

“Come on.” Sally smiles. “You can’t know that. He wouldn’t be that dumb, would he?"

Molly gives her a look.

“All right, yeah,” Sally says, shaking her head. “Scratch that. But come on – it can’t be that bad, can it?”

“Clearly being in America has led to your forgetting about my parents.” She shakes her head, and opens her phone, hitting _send_.

“Hi, Mum!” she says, as chirpily as she can manage. “You –”

“You lost your job?!” her mother half-shouts, and if Molly closes her eyes she can almost see her, hand on hip, giving a disapproving look to the lamp. “Molly, how could you not tell us for two weeks?"

“I’ve been trying to get another job!” Molly insists, picking at her fingernails, holding the phone between her shoulder and ear. “I’m sorry, Mum, I just didn’t want to worry you.”

Her mother sniffles. “I don’t think that’s true – I think you just wanted to keep me, your poor old mother, in the dark."

“Mum, no,” Molly says, rolling her eyes. She looks up to see Sally giving her a questioning look, and she shakes her head. “That really wasn’t it.”

“Well, what’s your plan?”

“The semester’s paid up, so I’m fine on that front. Sally’s helping me until I can get another job –”

“You know, I just hate that you’re where we can’t help you.”

“I know you do, Mum, but really, I can –”

“I just don’t want you to think that we don’t care about you.”

“I know you do, and I care about you, too.” Molly forces some cheer into her voice. “So Greg told you?”

“Yeah. Honey, he’s really worried about you and so am I. You never call home anymore, you don’t share things in your life –”

“Because you always treat me like I’m a stupid kid!” Molly shouts. “You’re always nosing your way in and telling me what to do, and I don’t like it. It’s none of your business what I do with my life. I’m nineteen, I’m on my own, please, please stop acting like it’s your life.”

Her mother is silent. “Well, if that’s how you feel,” and the phone clicks. Molly’s left with an empty line.

She just closes her eyes and tosses her phone onto the couch, shaking her head. Arms wrap around her, and she lets herself be led to her bed, lying down, facing the wall.

“Thank you,” she whispers, and smiles up at Sally. “I – thank you.”

“Of course.” There’s a cool hand on her forehead, and then Sally’s on the other side of the room, switching off the lights.

Molly falls asleep to the sound of Sally's typing away.

*

She calls her mother back the next day.

“Yes?” the answer comes, crisp and cold.

“I’m sorry, Mum.”

“For what? You just told me the truth, didn’t you?”

Molly sighs out. “No. I didn’t. I shouldn’t have kept it from you for so long. I’m sorry. And I’m sorry that I yelled at you.”

There’s silence, and then her mother audibly breathes out. “It’s all right. But I did think of a solution to your problem that I don't think you'll be too upset with.”

“What is it?” Molly asks, chewing on her lip, brow furrowed.

“Well, you know Greg.”

“Yes. Yes, I do.” She shakes her head, rolling her eyes.

“He’s such a nice boy – and unmarried, you know.”

“Mum, where are you going with this?”

“What if you two got married?”

” _What?_ ”

“I mean – you’ve always liked him, and I think you’ve always had sort of a crush on him. And I know he likes you, too – and of course he does, Molly, you’re a lovely girl with a big heart.”

“That’s – _Mum_. He’d never agree!”

“I think he would.”

“And what – so I’d marry him, and you’ll just pay off my debt?”

“Well, if you wanted to put it that way - yes.” Her mother pauses. “I just want you to be happy, honey.”

“I can be just as happy without a husband!” Molly snaps. “I’m fine on my own, _Mum_.”

“I know you say that you are, but –”’

“I’m not listening to this.” Molly breathes out, harsh. “You don’t know anything about what’s going to make me _happy_. I just want to find a job and pay for school – and I don’t care about finding a husband.”

“I know you say that now, but Molly, honey, you really –”

“ _No_.”

And she hangs up, letting her shoulders fall forward, tossing her phone onto the couch.

Sally’s behind her in a moment, hugging her tight, kissing the side of her head. “What happened?”

“She wants me to marry Greg.” She laughs, a forced, choked sort of sound. “And then she’ll pay for school.”

“Are you going to do it?” Sally asks, kissing the side of her neck.

Molly spins around, quick, eyes narrowed. “What?”

“I only meant –”

“Forgive me if I’m wrong, but last time I checked I was already in a relationship. Unless you don’t want this to be –”

“So this is a relationship, then?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Well, you haven’t told anyone about us, you’re always trying to hide it – what am I supposed to think? I’m just some fuck for you –”

“That’s _insane_ ,” Molly shouts (the loudest she’s been in ages, and she can recognize that she’s not really yelling at Sally so much as at _everything else_ but she can’t stop), “we haven’t even had sex – it’s not like I’m using you and if you think I am then clearly –”

“Don’t give me that bullshit, you use everyone around you and you know it. You’ve got poor Greg on a string – I’m not surprised your Mum wants you to marry him, you act like you’re married already.”

“What?”

“You Skype him _all_ the time, you tell him everything, you guys are always acting like you’re one step away from tying the knot!”

“He’s my friend!” Molly shouts, louder now, and she bites her lips together, shaking her head. “That’s it. I’m done. I’m not doing this anymore."

“Doing _what_?”

“Listening to you tell me what an awful person I am.” Molly glares at her. “I’m worth more than that.”

“You can’t play the martyr!” Sally shouts, even as Molly’s grabbing an outfit for tomorrow and putting it into her backpack. “You can’t make me feel guilty by not fighting back, Molly!”

She whips around. “ _Fuck you!_ ” she shouts. “You happy now?” and she throws her backpack against the wall. “You happy, now that you’ve heard me lose control?”

“Yeah,” Sally whispers, and she gets really close to Molly, pressing her against the wall. “I want you to get mad, Mol,” she says, voice at a normal volume, “get mad at me, _please_.”

“Why?” she snaps, shaking her head, and shuts her eyes. “I don’t know what you’re doing, but I’m not going to let you do this to me.”

“Do what?”

“Manipulate me into – into shouting at you so that you can feel like you’re the real _good person_ here. You’re in the wrong and I’m not going to let you pretend otherwise. You’re _wrong_."

“Oh, fuck you, Molly.” Sally shakes her head and steps back, throwing her arms. “You want to leave? Fine. Where the hell are you going to go?”

“I can go to–” and she pauses, thinking, quick. “I’ll go to Anne’s,” because it’s the first person that pops into her head. “She’ll let me stay with her.”

“Sure.” Sally snorts. “Have fun with that.” She crosses her arms, shaking her head, and walks to Molly’s backpack. She picks it up and tosses it across the room. “Don’t let me keep you.”

“ _Sally –_ ”

“What do you want from me, Molly?!” Sally shouts, whipping around. “I just want you to treat me like I’m more than some cheap girl that you’re picking up – but you won’t tell anyone about us!”

“You’ve never asked me to!” Molly protests, dropping her backpack and taking a couple of steps toward her.

“And what if I did? Would you?” Sally asks, derisive.

Molly nods. “Of course I would.”

“What?”

“I mean – I thought the reason you wouldn’t talk about it was that you didn’t want to – well, to be with me, you know?” Molly smiles, a forced smile. “I’m sorry.”

“You can’t do this. I’m still mad at you.”

“I know you are.” She feels something like she’s talking to a spooked animal, and she responds that way; her voice is soft, sweet. “I’m sorry, Sally.”

“You’re an idiot.”

“I know.” She pauses. “You are, too, though. A little bit.”

Sally smiles and walks across the room to her, shaking her head. “God,” she whispers, and kisses Molly, quick, intense.

They stumble over to the futon, and Sally pushes her down, climbing on top of her. “You’re so – god,” she whispers.

Molly smiles, biting her lip. “What am I, other than godlike?” she asks, tilting her head just out of reach. “Tell me,” she laughs, when Sally goes to kiss her again.

“You’re _wonderful_ ,” Sally says, laughing back. “Is that what you wanted to hear?”

Molly shrugs, a delicate shoulder movement, and then everything is kissing, sweet and then dirty.

Things escalate after that; Sally’s moaning and pulling at Molly’s shirt, and hands are everywhere, tender and then rougher, more needy.

“You’re lovely,” Sally whispers, just before she pulls Molly’s knickers down, tosses them behind her, and licks up her slit. Molly’s hands curl in her hair and she thinks she’s never been this happy.

(She goes down on Sally, too, and somehow that experience is better; her hands tangling in Molly’s hair, the nails scratching against her scalp, her mouth falling open in a silent shout, the way her legs shake against Molly’s shoulders.)

After, they lie together. Sally tries to get up, but Molly wraps an arm around her, shaking her head. “You’re not going anywhere,” she whispers.

She can feel Sally’s smile pressed agains the top of her head, the little kiss she leaves, and Molly drifts off.

*

“Did you mean it?” Sally asks.

“Hmm?” Molly manages around a bite of Cornflakes.

“You said you’d tell people about us if I wanted you to.” Sally wrings her hands together. “Did you mean it?”

Molly smiles. “Of course I did.”

“So – you wouldn’t mind telling Greg?”

She frowns, but nods. “I’ll tell him. Does it really bother you, how close I am to him?”

Sally shakes her head. “It’s not that. It’s just that I want him to know. He’s your best friend, you know? He should know about – us. Whatever capacity that might be in.”

Molly nods. “All right.”

That night, she gets on Skype and picks at her fingernails, biting her lip.

“What is it?” Greg asks her, laughing a bit; he looks almost nervous. “You look like you’ve killed a cat.”

“I have something to tell you.”

“What is it, Mols?”

She takes a breath. “I’m in a relationship with Sally.”

He pauses, blinking at her. “You are?”

She nods. “Is that a problem?”

He frowns. “Is what a problem?”

“I dunno.” She looks down, shrugging. “Any of it.”

“I don’t care who you date.”

She looks up, sharp.

“I don’t mean it in the ‘I don’t care about your life’ way but in the ‘it doesn’t matter to me if you’re dating a lady or not’.”

She nods, biting her lip again, harder. “I know.”

“What else is bothering you?”

“I – Sally thought – did my mum talk to you?”

“About what?”

“Us getting married.”

“What?!”

“She found out – _somehow_ –“ and she glares at him, then, for a moment – “that I lost my job and needed money. She told me that if I married you she’d pay for it. She didn’t talk to you about this?"

He shakes his head. “I’m guessing you said no.”

“Well, did you really want me to marry you for money?” Molly laughs; it's ludicrous. (Right?)

He shrugs. “I don’t want you to be in financial trouble.”

She blinks at the screen. “Are you kidding me?”

“I’m not saying it like – look, Molly, I just want you to be happy.” He smiles. “Really. No matter what that means, I want you to be happy.”

She closes her computer without a word.

Her stomach is turning on itself. She’s never thought about Greg in that way before, and she’s certainly not going to start now. (That feeling in her stomach, like she likes the thought of getting married to him, spending her life with him? That’s not a thing.)

She flops onto her bed and curls on her side, facing the window, eyes open.

Sally finds her like that some time later, and laughs, a shaky sound. “Are you okay?”

“Greg wants to marry me.”

“ _What_?"

“Well, he didn’t say it in so many words. He said that he’d be willing to.” She looks up, somewhat surprised to find that she has to blink tears away. “What am I supposed to do?"

“Do you want to marry him?”

“I dunno.” Molly smiles, a thin movement.

Sally pauses for a long moment. Then, she says, “I think that means we need to break up.”

“What? No – we just got our shit figured out –”

“If you were really in this, you’d have said no, no way.” Sally shrugs, a delicate shrug. “I’m sorry.”

Molly nods, and sits up on the bed. “Okay.”

“Is that all you have to say?”

Molly half-smiles, biting her lip. “No. But I get it and I’m not going to be able to change your mind. I’m just – can I have a hug?”

Sally shifts on her feet for a moment but then she nods, leaning over to pull her in. She smells like jasmine perfume, and weirdly, that’s what makes Molly tear up.

“I love you,” she whispers, because she hasn’t said it but she needs to, and feels Sally tense.

“You can’t do this to me,” she says, shaking her head, and she’s got tears in her own eyes. “It’s not fair.”

“I’m sorry – I was just – I had to say it.” Molly breathes out, sharp, and pulls her in for another hug, letting herself cry. “I don’t – I love you, I do.”

“I know.” Sally pulls away again, more firmly this time, and gives her a kiss on the forehead. “But not as much as you love him.”

“I don’t love him.” Molly shakes her head.

“I don’t believe you,” Sally says, delicate. She presses her lips together. “I’m going to – go, for a few days. You can use whatever you want. I don’t care. Just please don’t try to contact me.”

“I won’t.” Molly keeps still, keeps her hands in her lap, barely breathing, and watches Sally leave.

She feels like she should run after her, beg her to stay. She wants her, needs her to be with her. She’s wanted her since she was a little girl, and they first met; she doesn’t know what to do now that they’ve had their shot and it lasted barely a month.

But she watches her walk away, because she has to let her make her own decisions.

(And maybe, just maybe, she’s right.

But she can barely let herself think that. She’s already tried this whole ‘dating a friend’ thing once, and she can’t do it again, risk losing another friendship. She and Sally are never going to be the same after this, and she has to keep what she has with Greg organic, real.

She wants it but at the same time she’s _terrified_. She can’t marry someone for money; that isn’t love, that’s nothing real and tangible, and she won’t let herself do it. 

She presses her lips together, and tries not to cry.)

*

“So how're you and Sally doing?” Greg asks.

Molly breathes out like a punch in the chest. “We, um.” She stops.

She doesn’t have to say anything else, though. Greg gets it. “I’m sorry, honey,” he says, frowning at her, and she gets the feeling that he really means it; he really cares about her.

“I miss you,” she says, wiping at the corners of her eyes, and her lower lip trembles. “I just want a hug,” she says, laughing a bit.

He nods. “I love you, Mols. I'm hugging you in my mind, if that helps.”

She breathes out, shaky. “I love you, too.”

“What’re your plans for the evening?”

She spins once around in her chair and shrugs, gesturing toward the empty room. “This. Maybe watching crap telly. Oh! One moment.” She gets up, going to the fridge, and grabs a bottle of Merlot. “Getting drunk, too.”

“What if you just talked to me instead?” Greg asks, a winning smile on his face. “I know I’m not that good of conversation, but I’d feel a lot better if I could talk to you. Not that this is, you know, about me – this is about you, I promise. You can get drunk, too, if you want. I just want to be here for you.”

“Greg,” she says, laughing, and wipes the corner of her eye with a shaky hand. “I’d like that a lot.”

“Good,” he says, and smiles, relaxing into his chair. “So. How’re your classes going?”

(Later, she says what she’s really thinking.

She closes her eyes, tilting her head up to the ceiling, and muses, “I don’t know if Mum was all that crazy, after all.”

“Hmm?”

She makes herself open her eyes. Everything is a little bit fuzzy, but she ignores it, pushing through her words. “When she offered to marry me off.” She wrinkles her nose. “It sounds so dumb when I say it like that. I just meant –” She groans, the words tripping over themselves. “I just meant that I love you a lot and I’ve known you forever and maybe it’s not such a bad thing, to marry your best friend. You know?”

He looks a little bit shocked, but he nods. “I know what you mean.”

She leans forward, shaky in her chair, and bites her lip. “Would you be willing to?”

“Marry you?”

She nods.

“Mols, you’re drunk.”

“I know what I am!” she snaps, and shows him the empty bottle. “But I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t mean it.”

“I think I’m going to let you go.”

“Please don’t.” She reaches out toward the screen, wanting to be nearer to him. “I just – please. Talk to me. I’ll let it go, I promise.”

“Fine.” He settles back, though he still looks like he wants to run.

“Tell me about work.” Molly smiles, curling up in her chair.

He bites his lip but nods. “There’s this asshole I work with – Sherlock, his name is. Infuriating. He's just got together with this lad named John, though, and they're managable together, at least.”

*

She wakes up on the floor, with a pounding headache and aching limbs.

She winces at the sun, streaming in through her curtains, and sits up, blinking. _What the hell_.

She doesn’t have too clear of memories, apart from laughing with Greg and – well. _Shit_.

She’d essentially proposed to him.

 _Fuck, fuck_. She has to do something; she very clearly remembers getting rejected, Greg’s careful avoidance of the subject for the rest of the night, the way he’d shifted and looked at her like he really didn’t want to let her down but more than that didn’t want to marry her.

And of course he didn’t; he’s lovely and wonderful and great and can find someone just as great for him.

Molly gets herself up off the floor and stumbles her way to the shower while waiting for a pot of coffee to be made.

After an hour or so, she feels like a person again, and she pulls out her mobile, staring at it, chewing on her thumb nail.

Before she can lose her nerve, she dials Greg’s number and waits, staring at her table.

He answers, sounding world-weary. “Gregory Lestrade.”

“Hey, it’s Molly.” She’s surprised she manages to get the words out, the way she feels like her heart’s going to collapse in on itself.

“Molly?” He sounds surprised. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m fine. I just – look. I remember what I said last night, and I wanted to apologize.”

“For what?”

“For acting as though – you know.”

“I don’t.” He does sound really sorry, though, not like he’s mocking her, and she frowns at her phone, running a hand through her hair.

“Like you’d want to marry me.”

“What?”

“I know I said some things – and I put you on the spot –and I know we haven’t done anything, and that you have no obligation to want to.” She breathes out. “I’m sorry I put you in that spot.”

“Molly, I’m confused.”

“I’ll – I can’t do this.” She breathes, slow, tears welling up in her eyes. “I have to go.”

“No! Wait –”

She shuts her phone without saying anything else and cries into her hands, shoulders shaking.

(She feels entirely pathetic. This is as low as she can fall, she’s sure of it.)

*

She ignores everyone for the next few days.

She works on her assignments. She’s been slacking the past few weeks, and she uses the weekend (a long weekend, with an extra day for some American holiday she’s not entirely sure the name of) to work on everything, phone and internet turned off.

On Sunday evening, she feels like a person again, and turns her phone back on.

There are about a thousand messages, and she goes through them slowly, methodically. Most of them are from Greg, variations of _I really need to speak with you, please call me back when you’re done being an idiot_ , but a few are from her mother – _Greg’s worried about you and so am I, I’m sorry I gave you the ultimatum, I love you_.

One is from Sally,and it’s just a text message.

> _I love you, too. I’m sorry things had to end the way they did._
> 
> _x Sally_

That one makes her heart hurt but she pushes the hurt to the side, focuses on everything else.

First, she has to call Greg.

She looks at the clock, though, and feeling the sinking pit in her heart, decides to push everything back just one more day.

*

That day turns into a week, and by that time her inbox is full and she’s pushing everything aside for the sake of her schoolwork.

She calls her mother on Friday.

“Molly? Where on _Earth_ have you been this week?”

“Mum, I really – I didn’t have the energy to talk to anyone.”

“You could have talked to me! I just wanted to be sure you were alive!”

“Of course I was alive. Mum. I just needed some time.”

“You need to think about me more often.”

She closes her eyes, shaking her head, but doesn’t say anything to make her mother angry. “I know,” she manages. “I’m sorry.”

“So I don’t know if you listened to my messages…” and she trails off.

“Some of them, yeah.”

“I’m sorry if I made you worried with what I said. That wasn’t my intention.”

“I know.” Molly closes her eyes.

“I just want you to be happy.” A beat. “And if you wanted to marry Greg, why, we wouldn’t be upset about that.”

(Molly commends her; she only sounds mildly annoyed. She must be trying very hard to keep that in check.)

“Mum, please.”

“Oh, all right. But please do call me more often, okay?”

“I will. I’m sorry. This week has been so weird. I’ll keep in touch. I promise. But I do have to go now – I’ll talk to you Sunday. Definitely.”

They hang up, and Molly stares at her phone for a long moment before dialing.

“Molly?” Greg sounds frantic.

“Yeah – look, I’m sorry.” Molly breathes. “I just needed some time –”

“Molly – now is really not a good time.” He sounds really distracted. “I’ll talk to you soon, okay? I’m so sorry. I love you.” And he hangs up.

She stares at her phone. She shouldn’t feel insulted, but she does; she’s done the same thing to him, yeah, but somehow it hurts, having him throw it back into her face.

She tosses her phone to the side, goes to the freezer and grabs some well-deserved ice cream. On second thought, she grabs a bottle of Bailey’s as well and parks herself in front of the TV screen for a well-earned cry.

*

She wakes up to a knock at the door. She shakes herself awake and looks around, blinking.

The knock comes again.

She looks at her slippered feet and bites her lip, shrugging. She goes to the door and opens it without looking through the peephole.

It takes her a moment to see anything, because – it’s Greg, on one knee, and there’s  a ring in his hand.

“Molly,” he says, smiling, “will you marry me?”

Her hands fly to her face and there are tears in her eyes. “Yeah,” she whispers, nodding, quick. It’s all she can do not to burst into real tears, and she pulls him up, hugging him tight. “Oh my goodness,  _yes_!" she half-shouts.

Someone at the end of the hallway wolf-whistles, and Molly suddenly feels very self-conscious in her pink sheep pyjamas. “Will you, um – come inside?” she asks, turning to the side, a little awkward.

Greg nods, laughing, and walks in. “You – it’s lovely.”

Molly wrinkles her nose. “It’s not usually this messy.” There are papers everywhere, and the couch is an absolute mess. She’s been sleeping there for the past week, passing out at her laptop. “I’m sorry – I can clean it up – you can come back if you want.”

Greg laughs, shaking his head. “You don’t get it.”

“What?” Molly looks up at him, wide-eyed.

“You’re adorable.” He pulls her into a hug. He smells like an airplane – and at that realization, Molly pulls away, glaring at him.

“Why on earth are you here?”

“You weren’t answering my calls. And somewhere around Wednesday I realized that it was because you thought I didn’t love you. And that’s insane – I love you so much, Molly, you have to know that. So I decided to come to you and make you talk to me.”

“But it’s Friday.”

“I know.” He shrugs, a little sheepish. “I couldn’t get off work until today.”

She frowns, shaking her head. “I called you.”

“As I was boarding.” He shakes his head. “I just – can I kiss you?”

She smiles, wide, and looks up at him. “Please.”

He does kiss her. It’s gentle and loving, and Molly thinks, _this is it_. This is the best kiss of her life, because it’s her and _Greg_.

(She spares nothing more than a passing thought to Sally, a thought tinted with nostalgia.)

“I love you, Mols.” He smiles, biting his lip. “And when you said that, that night – I thought you didn’t mean it because you were drunk. And I didn’t see it from your perspective, and I’m sorry. But will you marry me?”

“I’ve already said yes, you idiot.” Molly laughs, wiping her eyes. “That reminds me – give me the stupid ring!”

He hands it over, and she slips it onto her finger, smiling at it. “It’s beautiful.”

“It doesn’t have a story behind it or anything like that. I’m sorry.” Greg shrugs. “Mum wouldn’t give hers up – she’s sentimental, that one. I just – if you don’t like it we can trade it –”

She shakes her head and cuts him off with a kiss. “Please, for the love of everything, shut up.”

He grins, and nods. “Will do.” He leans in for another kiss, and Molly wraps her arms around him, holding him tight, close to her.

*

“I don’t want you to leave,” Molly whispers.

Greg looks at her, raising an eyebrow. “Well, I do have to leave at some point. Sunday, probably. Whenever I can get a ticket.”

“You didn’t buy a plane ticket back home?” Molly asks, laughing a bit. “What am I going to do with you?”

He flips them so he’s on top of her, and bites his lip. “I can think of a few ideas.”

She rolls her eyes, pushing him off of her, and sits up. “That’s not what I meant.”

“Well, I don’t know why you’d have to – I dunno. It’s not like I did anything wrong.” Greg looks sheepish.

“No, but you didn’t think ahead either.”

“Yeah. I flew across the world to come propose to you. I wasn’t really thinking of being ‘rational’,” Greg says, dry.

Molly smiles, a slow sort of thing that spreads across her face. “I love you,” she says, the simplest thing she’s ever said. (It’s different, than when she was with Sally. Then, it was all about having to try and hide her feelings, but with Greg, she thinks, it’s just nice, easy.)

“Love you, too, Mols.” The endearment has never sounded so nice to her ears, and she flushes, a light shade of pink.

“Um.” Greg shifts. “You like the ring, then. And this whole – proposal.”

Molly smiles, looking up. “Yeah.” She pauses. “You’re not just marrying me because my mother wants you to, are you?”

He blanches. “What? Of course not. I wouldn’t – not unless you asked me to.”

She frowns. “All right.” She looks at the ring on her finger, feeling a heaviness in her heart all of a sudden. “I – you sure you want to do this?”

“Why, are you having second thoughts?” He smiles at her, but when she doesn’t respond his face falls. “Are you?”

“I don’t know.” She twists the ring, turning around to face the window. She feels as though she’s been hit in the face with a bucket of ice water; she’s regretting this, almost, all of a sudden – not regretting saying yes, but regretting the fact that she may be playing right into her mother’s hand. “No.” She smiles.

“All right.” Greg grins at her.

(He wouldn’t do that to her. He loves her, no matter what, and he wouldn’t choose her mother over her. She’s sure of it.)

“Does anyone know you came?” Molly asks, swallowing.

“No.” Greg bites his lip. “I was going to tell people – but I figured you might find out that way. I wasn’t sure if you were listening to your messages.” He pauses, frowning. “Were you?”

“Sort of.” Molly shrugs. “I turned my phone off for a day and then listened to everything – and I was so overwhelmed, I just couldn’t talk to you after that.”

“Why?”

She shrugs, crossing her arms over her chest. “I was – worried. I asked you to marry me, without ever having dated you or anything. And you just blew me off. What was I supposed to think?”

He presses his lips together. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” She shakes her head. “You didn’t do anything wrong, I’m just –” She’s almost shaking. “I just want you to know why I was – acting like that.”

“It’s okay, Molly. It’s all okay.” He pulls her into a hug, and she smiles, breathing him in.

“You’re wonderful,” she whispers, putting all worries out of her mind.

*

They don’t have sex, that weekend.

Molly wants to, she thinks, but it’s the fact that she just thinks it that worries her; she doesn’t want to make a mistake. She can’t mess this up.

She’s heard that sometimes, having sex before you’re ready can mess up a relationship. She doesn’t want to do that to this. This feels tender, gentle. She can say that she loves him but she can’t be the one to initiate sex.

She’s only had sex with one person, and that was Sally, of all people. She has no idea what she’s meant to do, what’s good or bad. (It’s not that she’s never dated boys before, or something. It’s just that she doesn’t want to have sex unless it means something to her, personally, and it never would have before.

It does now. It means more than it should, maybe, and so she’s terrified.

So when Greg’s hands wander, she always stops them, smiling at him, tight. She can tell he’s hurt but he’s a gentlemen; he doesn’t push her one step past what she wants.)

*

“Why don't you want to have sex?” Greg asks, a whisper, one evening.

Molly frowns. “What do you mean?" 

“I mean – you’ve had sex before, haven’t you?”

She shrugs. “Depends what you count as sex.”

He raises an eyebrow.

“With – one person, but it was just – it was a girl. It wasn’t like –” She makes a crude gesture, shrugging.

Greg laughs. “So you’re nervous.”

She nods. “When I’m ready, though – I’ll tell you. It’s more than just nerves. That, I can handle. That means I’m ready. I don’t think I am, yet.”

He laughs. “All right, Mols.” He kisses her on the forehead, but it feels indulgent, and she has to explain.

“No.” She pulls away. “It’s not like, _Oh, Molly’s so young, she doesn’t want to bang me yet_. I know it’s strange but I just – I need to be ready and I think that’s an adult thing to feel.”

His brow furrows. “What do you mean?”

“I don’t want you treating me like I’m just some kid that you need to raise. We need to be equals, and I want you to treat me as such.”

“Am I not?”

She bites her lip. “Kind of, no.”

He frowns. “Oh. I’m very sorry, then. That wasn’t my intent, at all.”

She nods. “I know. I just – I don’t want to feel like I have to feel guilty for not sleeping with you.”

“And you shouldn’t!” He looks horrified at the thought. “I’m so sorry, Molly.”

“It’s okay.” She smiles.

“No – it’s not okay.” He frowns, and drags his leg up under him, grabbing her hands. “Do you want to go out for ice cream?”

She smiles, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear. “Why?”

“I want to take you on a date. We haven’t been on one, and we’re getting _married_.”

Her heart races. “We are,” she whispers, feeling a little bit lightheaded. “And I’d love to go on a date with you, sir,” she says, laughing, grabbing his arm. They walk out together, and he kisses the top of her head.

*

Greg leaves on Sunday. Molly sees him off at her flat. She’d go with him to the airport, but she doesn’t have a car.

“Goodbye,” she whispers, and somehow it hurts more than when it was her leaving him. It hurts because she knows, now, that she’s in love with him, and she knows he loves her too.

“Bye, Mols,” he whispers back, kissing her on the forehead. “I’ll see you soon, yeah?”

“Safe flight,” she says, smiling, and wipes tears out of the corners of her eyes.

“Yeah.”

*

She calls her mother later that day.

“Molly?” Her mom sounds confused. “How’re you doing, honey?”

Molly bites her lip. “I’m marrying Greg.”

Her mum goes quiet for a long moment. And then, “What?”

“I’m – marrying him. I love him.” Her voice is careful, measured.

“I don’t know what to say.” She doesn’t sound as happy as Molly had thought she’d be.

She frowns. “You okay, Mum?”

“Yeah, I’m fine – I just – why?”

“What do you mean?”

“Why did you decide to marry him?”

“Because I love him. And he loves me.”

“How do you know that?”

“Um.” She pauses. “He came here and told me.”

“ _What?!_ ” Now, though, her mother sounds pleased. “He – flew there to see you?”

“Yeah.” Molly’s smile is huge. “He did.”

“What a surprise!” There’s something in her voice that Molly doesn’t really like, but she pushes it to the side of her mind. “I’m so happy for you, darling. I want to see the ring!”

Molly looks at it, a smile on her face. “Skype?”

*

“Oh, honey, it’s beautiful.” Her mother’s hands are clasped over her heart; she’s the picture of a proud mother. “I’m so, so happy.”

Molly rolls her eyes, but smiles. “I am, too.”

“So what are you thinking, date-wise?”

Molly blanches. “I hadn’t thought about that, actually.”

“Oh.” Her mother frowns. “Well, you do know where you want to have the wedding, yeah? And who the bridesmaids are going to be?”

“I don’t – know.” Molly shakes her head, closing her eyes. “I didn’t think about anything, really, other than that I knew I wanted to marry Greg.”

“Oh, of course you did.” She looks disapproving, but her voice is calm. “Well, if you need any help, you know where to find me!” She smiles, and looks off to the side for a moment. “You know, your father is calling me now. I’m going to have to go. But please, keep me updated on everything!”

Molly closes her eyes, breathing out after she hangs up.

Now she has just one more person to tell.

*

“Now, honestly, what is so important you couldn’t tell me over the phone?” Sally asks as she comes over to Molly’s table.

Molly looks around, for some reason wanting to make sure there aren’t any other people around. “I,” she begins, but their waitress comes up ot them, popping her gum, looking depressingly cheery.

“What can I get for you girls to drink?” she asks, smiling wide.

“Coke, please,” Molly says.

“Just water for me, thanks,” Sally says, and then turns back to her. “Now, _tell_ me.”

Molly waits until the waitress is gone, and then holds out her hand, fingers shaking.

Sally stares at it for a long moment. “What is this,” she manages in a carefully measured tone.

“It’s – well, it’s what it looks like.” Molly bites her lip. “I didn’t know how to tell you – I’m so sorry, Sally.”

She closes her eyes. “Why are you telling me this?”

“Because you’re my best friend –”

“I’d like to think I’m a little bit more than that!” she snaps, and looks around, guilty. “I’m a little bit more than your friend, Molly.”

“Yeah – I know – but I can’t do this without you.” Molly reaches out, squeezing Sally’s wrist. “I –”

The waitress comes by and drops their drinks off, leaving as soon as she sees Molly’s panicked face and Sally’s grimace.

“You what?”

“I need you, my best friend. We’ve known each other for ages, Sally – I don’t want to have to go through this without you just because we –”

“Because we what? The way you’re talking, it sounds like it didn’t mean anything.”

Molly sits back, pulling her hand away. “Of course it did.”

“Did it? Because all I’m seeing is that I’ve been gone for two _bloody_   weeks and you’re already engaged! How long did it take to get with him, hmm? A day? Two? Or am I being generous?” Sally leans forward. “Maybe you’ve been engaged this whole time, yeah? And you were just waiting to hurt me.”

Molly bites her lip. “I can’t believe you’d say something like that.”

“Why? Because it’s true?”

“Because I would never, ever do anything to try and hurt you.” She’s trying really hard not to get angry, to see things from her perspective, and so her voice is perfectly level.

“Yeah? Then why are you getting married, Molly?” Sally stands up, shaking her head. “I’m sorry, I can’t.”

“Sally!” She stands up, reaching out, but Sally shrugs out of her grasp. “Please,” she whispers, tears in her eyes.

“I’ve always been here for you,” Sally says, shrugging on her coat, “but not this time. I’m sorry. I just need to take some time away.”

Molly bites her lips together, trying not to cry. “I love you,” she gets out.

“Don’t you dare say that.”

“I do!” Molly insists. “Please, just talk to me. I’ve missed you so, so much.”

Sally looks around and then nods, sliding back into her chair. “Only because I don’t want to cause a scene, and you have that look in your eyes.”

Molly shakes her head. “Fine, fine. Whatever.” She leans in again, biting her lower lip. “I just want you to know that I’m so sorry for the way that I hurt you.”

Sally frowns, shaking her head. “What’s the catch?”

“No catch.” Molly puts her hands in her lap, twisting her fingers together. “I’m sorry, because it wasn’t fair. I’ve wanted you since I was a little girl, but I didn’t know – didn’t realize – that I was in love with Greg, too.” She closes her eyes. “It wasn’t fair to either of you, honestly, but I’ve sorted things out and while I love you I just –”

“You love him more.” Sally’s voice is dry.

“Yeah.” She opens her eyes, tears filling them. “I’m so sorry.”

Sally rolls her eyes. “You don’t have to keep apologizing, Jesus, Molly.”

Molly smiles a bit. “So you forgive me?”

“Of course I forgive you, you nutjob.” Sally rolls her eyes, but pulls her into as much of a hug as she can across the table, kissing her forehead. “Can we please eat some food now? I’m starving.”

“Yeah.” The smile on Molly’s face can be seen from England, she’s sure.

(“Will you be my Maid of Honor?” she asks Sally, as they’re leaving.

Sally looks at her, wide-eyed. “You sure you want that?”

Molly breathes out. “Who the hell else would I ask?”

“I dunno.” Sally breathes out, her breath fogging in the night air. “I just – I dunno if that’d be weird, you know?”

“Of course.” She’s a little bit let down, but she tries not to let that show. “I just wanted – I mean – if you’d like to, I’d be honored. And I’m sure Greg would love it, too.”

“You think?” Sally laughs. “You have a lot to learn, Miss Hooper.”

Molly clenches her jaw. “What are you talking about?”

“I’m the ex-girlfriend.” Sally shakes her head. “Regardless of what we called one another, that’s how Greg is going to think of me.”

Molly shakes her head. “He’s not like that, though.”

“You think he isn’t. But you don’t know.” Sally shakes her head. “How’d you feel if he wanted his ex-wife to be his Best Man?”

“He wouldn’t, she’s a lady and you can’t have that be the –”

“Molly.”

She huffs out a breath, and nods. “I see your point. But we were never married.”

“Talk to him.” Sally smiles, patting her on the shoulder. “I’m not trying to sound condescending. I just want you to know why I’m saying what I am. I mean it. If he’s one hundred percent okay with it, I’ll definitely do it. I’d love to. But I don’t want to step on his toes. He’s your husband-to-be. I’m just the friend. He gets precedence.”

“Not in my book, he doesn’t,” Molly grumbles, but she’s looking at the ground, crossing her arms. She knows Sally’s right, though.

Sally laughs. “You’re cute, Mols.”

“What?”

“You know you’d put him above anything else in the world.”

Molly shakes her head. “I wouldn’t! Not you – I swear.”

“As sweet as that is, we both know it isn’t true.” Sally shrugs. “I’m not offended, just saying the truth.”

Molly breathes out, and nods. “Are you coming back to the flat?”

Sally nods. “Do you mind? Not today, I mean – within the week, though, for sure.”

Molly smiles, small. “All right.”

“I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“I don’t want you to think I’m skipping out on you. I’m trying as hard as I can, Mols. I just – it’s really hard for me.”

“It’s hard for me, too.”

“But you have Greg. I don’t have – anyone. Well, almost anyone.”

Molly frowns. “What?”

“I’m sort of – seeing someone.”

Molly tilts her head. “I’m trying really hard not to call you a hypocrite, just so you’re aware.”

Sally laughs, shaking her head. “I know, I know. But – it’s Anderson. And it’s not serious. Just – casual stuff. I needed someone, you know?”

Molly ignores the question. “Isn’t Anderson in a relationship?”

“He – yeah.” Sally bites her lip. “Funny, that.”

“I thought you didn’t want to do that to her?”

“I don’t know, Molly.” She shakes her head, and Molly’s almost surprised to see tears in her eyes. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do, okay? I’m not – not a bitch, and he’s not trying to hurt her. But she’s awful and I don’t know what to do.” She’s crying now, and Molly’s a little bit confused; she’s never seen her really cry before.

She pulls her into a hug, patting her on the back. “I love you,” she whispers. “I love you and you’re not a bitch, okay? I think you just need to talk to him and make sure you guys are on the same page, yeah?”

Sally nods. “I know I do.” She pauses for a long moment. ‘But what if he doesn’t want what I want?”

“Well, what is it that you want?” As she’s asking the question, a light rain starts, and in moments it’s a downpour.

“Want to come back to my place?” Molly asks her, half-shouting, and laughing a bit.

Sally smiles. “Of course.”

*

When they’re both sufficiently dry, Molly asks again.

“What do you want from him?”

“I dunno. I just want to not be sad anymore. I want to not be alone, and to have someone that’s not going to leave me.”

“I didn’t leave you,” Molly whispers, looking at her hands.

Sally smiles, patting her on the hand. “Yeah, you did.”

Molly bites her lip. “I didn’t try to hurt you.”

“I know.” Sally starts braiding her hair, looking at it instead of Molly. “Doesn’t change anything, though.”

“But –” Molly shakes her head. “It’s not fair to me.”

“I know it isn’t.” Sally smiles. “I’m really sorry for acting like I’m just – refusing to see the truth. But it’s the only way to deal with all of this.”

Molly nods. “I get that.”

“No, you don’t.”

“Will you stop telling me I’m wrong about everything?” Molly snaps. “You keep acting as though you know so much more than me –”

“I’m sorry,” Sally says, voice calm. “I don’t want you to think that way. I’m just – it’s hard to hear things when I know they’re not true.”

Molly raises an eyebrow.

“I could have phrased that better,” Sally allows, smiling. “But I understand what you’re saying. I just – can we just watch a movie and have a good time?”

Molly smiles, though it feels forced, and nods. “Yeah, definitely.”

(They settle on watching Spongebob, actually. They can’t choose a movie – their tastes are too different, and so they settle in for a cartoon that neither of them admit to loving but neither say no to, either.

Somewhere through their fifth episode (Molly really loves Netflix) Sally offers to make popcorn. It feels nice, to be together again; it’s like none of the past month or so ever happened.

Except that Molly’s hand reaches for the popcorn; the hand with the ring, and when Sally reaches too it’s as though she sees it and physically recoils.

She gets up and goes to the bathroom for a long while. Molly pauses the show at first, but as ten minutes turns into a half hour, she plays it again.

She falls asleep without Sally coming out. When she wakes up, there’s a blanket on top of her and Sally’s gone without a trace.)

*

“How was your night?” Greg asks.

Molly smiles. “It was great. Sally and I got dinner, and then she came back, and –” Greg’s frown stops her in her tracks. “What?”

“You got dinner with Sally?”

“Yeah. I had to tell her about the engagement.”

“Why didn’t you just tell her over the phone?”

Molly laughs, exasperated. “Why does everyone ask me that? I didn’t want to tell her over the phone. It felt too impersonal.”

“Well, why shouldn’t it be impersonal? It’s not like it’s her wedding.”

“She’s my best friend!”

“I thought I was your best friend.”

Molly laughs, but his face doesn’t change. “Wait, are you seriously upset with me?”

“I dunno.” Greg looks down. “I just don’t see why you got dinner with her. And invited her back to your flat.”

“She lives there too.”

“Yeah, but she doesn’t stay there.”

“What the hell does that have to do with anything?”

“It’s different.” Greg shakes his head. “I’m sorry, Mols. I just – I don’t want you two to hang out.”

“Are you forbidding me?”

“Well, no – I just wouldn’t feel comfortable if you, like, had a sleepover.”

Molly frowns. “Do you not trust me?”

“It’s not you I don’t trust.”

“She has a boyfriend!” It’s a slight embellishment, but Molly doesn’t really feel guilty about it.

“She does?”

“Yeah.” Molly frowns. “So you’re saying she’d cheat on him to get with me?”

Greg grumbles. “I dunno, Molly. But I know she had you and she tossed you aside – and I don’t know, she might realize what she’s done and want you back.”

“You say that like I’m going to give in. Or that she wouldn’t take no for an answer.” Molly shakes her head. “She’s my best friend.”

“Then why don’t you ever hang out?”

“You know why.”

“I want to hear you say it. Why don’t you two hang out more often?”

“Because it’s weird, now that we've broken up.” Molly picks at her nails, shaking her head. “But that’s not fair. It’s not fair that we can’t hang out, that we can’t be like we were before.”

“What, sexual tension off the charts?” He shakes his head. “Mols, you guys can never be what you were before.”

“That’s not fair!” Molly insists. “It isn’t fair that we can’t be what we were. I’m not – argh.” She shakes her head. “I’m sorry. I’m going to just go.”

“No, please.” Greg smiles at her. “Did you tell your Mum?”

She sighs, but nods. “Yeah.”

“What’d she say?”

Molly lets a shy smile creep onto her face. “She was really pleased for me, I think.”

“And are you excited?”

Molly laughs. “Yeah. But I’m nervous, too.”

“For what?”

“There’s so much to plan!” She looks around her room, spinning in her chair one time. “Food and guests and a dress and a location and a date – everything’s just so much, you know?”

“Well, you don’t have to think about that for a while.”

“Why not?”

“Do you want to get married while you’re at university?”

Molly shrugs. “When else?”

“I dunno, after?”

“You want to be engaged that long?”

Greg smiles. “I just want you to be happy.”

She purses her lips, narrowing her eyes. “That’s not a real answer, buddy.”

“Oh, so I’m your buddy now?” Greg laughs. “All right then, mate.”

“Oh!” Molly laughs, shaking her head. She puts a hand up to her chest. “How you wound me, sir.”

He shrugs. “You started it.”

“How mature.” She smiles, wide, feeling a lot better. “I am going to go, though. I’ve got a lot of work to do.”

“Why don’t you just do it while I’m on the line with you?”

She frowns. “Won’t that be boring?”

“Nah. I’ve got an article due anyway. I think it’s just nice to spend time with you.”

She flushes a light pink. “You, too.”

“It’s settled, then.”

They get into their work individually, and Molly finds that having the sound of his breathing is comforting to her. It helps her work.

Some time later, she looks at the clock, shaking her head. “I’ve got to go to bed,” she tells him, apologetic.

Greg frowns. “Hmm? Okay.” He smiles at her, tired. “G’night.”

*

“How would you feel about Sally being my Maid of Honor?” she asks Greg, a few weeks later. She’s on her spring break (Sally’s off doing something with Anderson), and so it’s four in the morning but she’s wide awake; feet hugged to her chest, chewing on her nail.

Greg frowns. “Is this a trick question?”

“What do you mean?”

“If I answer wrong, are you going to dump me or something?”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

He shakes his head. “Nothing. I dunno how I feel about it. Why?”

“Because I don’t really have anyone else to ask and she’s – well, you know. My best friend. But she thinks you might be uncomfortable with it –”

“You asked her without consulting me first?”

She raises an eyebrow. “Why, are you my keeper?”

“No. I didn’t mean it like that – I just meant, why would you ask my opinion if you’re already decided?”

“I’m not, though. I asked her when we got dinner and she said that she wouldn’t do it if you weren’t okay with it.”

“Oh, great.” He rolls his eyes. “Now I have to say yes or I look like the bad guy.”

“Greg, no one’s thinking that.” She chuckles. “I think you’re being a little irrational.”

The look he gives her stops her in her tracks. “Molly, please try to grow up. I can’t say no or else I look like I’m being irrationally jealous of your ex.”

“Well, do you want to bring your ex-wife to the wedding?”

His eyes widen. “What the fuck, Molly?”

“I was just asking.”

“Of course I don’t want to bring her!”

“I’m sorry.” She clutches her knees to her chest, tighter. “I just want – I want to know why you’re so weird about this.”

“Because she dated you before I did. Because you had sex with her before you ever had sex with me – still haven’t. Because you might still have feelings for her!”

“Don’t you trust me?”

“I do, of course –”

“Then why can’t she come?”

“You know what? Fine. You asked for my opinion but clearly you’re not going to listen to anything I say.” He shakes his head. “Do whatever the fuck you want, Molly. I’m done.”

And he’s gone.

Molly’s mouth falls open. “Shit,” she whispers.

*

A week and a half pass. Molly spends most of that time marathoning telly and hanging out with Sally; they’ve gotten even closer, somehow, since the breakup and subsequent fight. They spend most nights awake, talking to each other until one of them passes out, on the couch.

(It’s an unspoken rule that the last one awake will cover the other one with a blanket and make sure all of the lights are turned off. This rule is only broken when they drink. Then, all bets are off.)

“I don’t know what to do,” Molly tells her, chewing on her nail. “I don’t want to call him if he’s just going to yell at me again – but –”

“Just give him time,” Sally says, feet up on the table, reading through a magazine. She sets it to the side to give Molly a serious look. “He’s really not worth your being upset.”

Molly smiles, shaking her head. “You have to say that.”

“I do not. I’m just being honest.” She gets up and kisses Molly on the forehead on her way to her bed. “What should we do for dinner?”

“Pizza,” Molly says without thinking,a nd at that moment her Skype call noise begins.  She looks at Sally, wide-eyed.

“Do you want me to get out of here?”

“Please don’t,” she half-squeaks, and Sally nods.

“I’ll be quiet, but right here. Let me know if you need me.”

Molly nods and then answers.

Greg looks sufficiently chagrined. “I’m sorry.”

Molly frowns. “Why?”

“Because I’ve been an arse, and you don’t deserve that.”

“You seemed to think I deserved it the other day.” (She’s being a bit rude, but she thinks she’s allowed to be; Greg’s been more than a bit rude to her for a week and a half.)

“I deserved that.”

She tilts her head to the side in a _well, that’s obvious_ way. “Look. I don’t want to fight with you.”

“And I don’t want to fight with you.”

“But I just – I need to be able to talk to you, as my fiancé, without you getting all bent out of shape. And don’t tell me you weren’t. Look, I get that you’re scared about this whole Sally thing. But I need you to trust me when I tell you that I have no feelings for her anymore. None. I love _you_ , Greg. I don’t love her - like that.” She can see Sally stiffen out of her peripheral vision, but it has to be said; both of them have to know. “When you blow up at me I feel like you don’t trust me.”

“That’s not it at all!”

“Then why do you insist on making me feel like shit for asking you a question?”

“I dunno, Mols.” He shrugs. “I just – I get nervous, you know?”

“About what?”

“That you’re going to leave me.”

“Why on Earth would you be scared of that?” The thought is ludicrous, and she laughs. “I agreed to marry you before we ever went on a date. I think that proves that I’m serious about you.”

He nods. “I know you are. But you might change your mind, and I don’t think I can go through something like that again.”

“I won’t change my mind,” she whispers.

He nods, closing his eyes. “I know that. But at the same time, I also know that you might. And that’s terrifying.”

“You just need to trust me, okay?” She smiles, blinking away tears. “Please trust me, Greg.”

“I do,” he whispers, and smiles at her, wide. “I really, really do.”

*

Sally doesn’t talk to her, properly, for a few days after that.

After long enough of this, Molly invites her out to breakfast. She can skip one class, she figures; it’s worth it, to find out what’s going on in Sally’s head.

They sit across from one another at a small restaurant near campus. Sally doesn’t say much; she stirs her coffee with a small spoon and breathes.

Molly has to break the silence. “What did I do wrong?”

Sally looks up, shrugging. “What do you mean?”

“Ever since I talked to Greg, you’ve been treating me like I’m nothing to you.” Molly frowns. “We’re best friends. Why can’t I do anything without you treating me like dirt?”

Sally half-smiles, raising an eyebrow. “Maybe it’s not about you. Did you ever think of that?”

Molly frowns.

“I do have things going on in my life other than you.” She smirks humorlessly. “Did I tell you Anderson’s girlfriend found out?”

“What? No!” Molly gasps, reaching out to squeeze Sally’s hand.

She pulls away. “I don’t need your pity, Molly.” Her tone is ice.

Molly shakes her head. “What are you taking about? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Here’s a question for you.” Sally slams the spoon down on the table, steepling her fingers and raising an eyebrow again. “Why don’t you ever ask me what’s going on in your life? You get so offended when I don’t speak to you for days, but what you really mean is when I don’t ask for every detail of your life. I have my own shit to deal with and I’m sorry, but I don’t want to hear how you and Greg are just _so_ perfect and how you’re _so very_ excited for your wedding. I’m _sorry_.” She stands up, tossing some money onto the table. “I can’t do this, Molly. I need a few days.”

And she’s gone.

*

(Everyone keeps leaving her, she thinks, going back to the empty flat. She tosses her bag onto the table and sighs, crawling into her bed.

She feels rather lonely, these days. She doesn’t have Greg to comfort her and Sally’s been weird ever since everything happened. She’s not sure what she’s meant to do, now.

She considers calling someone, but she’d rather deal with this on her own; she doesn’t need the meaningless platitudes that her mother will offer, or the worried questions Greg will. She needs someone that will just talk to her; accept that she doesn’t want to talk about the issue, anything but.

She needs more friends. For not the first time in her life, she curses her inability to talk to strangers. It was handy when she was a child; she made sure she was close to her mother’s skirt, always. But now, she goes into a lecture hall and sees not one familiar face, nothing she can grasp onto. She spends most of her days alone.

She has a fiancé waiting for her, and a best friend at school with her. That’s always been enough to tide her over; she’s always been able to hold onto that and forget about the fact that they’re the only people in her life.

She can’t let it go now, though. She feels it, the crushing loneliness, in every inch of her. She clutches her stomach and wants to cry but can’t. She wants to throw up but she can’t make it out of her bed.

(She, very briefly, wonders if she’s dying. For an even briefer moment that she passes off as due to stress, she hopes she is.)

She lies there until the sky fades from blue to a pale pink to an inky black, and at last, she sleeps.)

*

She throws herself into school after that.

It’s her third year of university; she should be graduating but she has one more year to go. (Just like the American students, she thinks, and laughs.)

She’s never tried particularly hard at school, but always gotten top marks. A _gifted_ child, they called her when she was young. (Students called her a snot.)

Now, they don’t call her anything. No matter her grades, they’re never good enough. She’s not getting all A’s, and so she’s not good enough.

And so she works. She works on projects and papers not due for a month, and does little else. She shows up to classes fifteen minutes early and stays after to talk to the teachers. It’s ostensibly because she needs help with the assignments, but really because she doesn’t want to go back to an empty flat and remember the way that she’s pushed everyone away from her.

She’s all alone.

When she finally does make it back to her flat, she just breathes, trying to take it all in. This is what she wanted, after all; a life away from her parents, away from everything tying her down back in England.

And now she has it, and she wants nothing more than to curl up and cry.

Days pass in this manner. Days in which Greg calls often and her mother more so; days in which Sally won’t talk to her and so Molly won’t talk to them. (She can radio silence with the best of them. She’s not anything; why should she pretend otherwise?)

*

She shakes herself out of this after two weeks.

Greg’s stopped calling her now, and she calls him with crossed fingers, hoping beyond hope that he hasn’t forgotten her, hasn’t decided to leave her –

“Molly?”

She breathes out a sigh of relief, nodding at the phone. “Yeah, it’s me.”

“Molly, you have to stop doing this.”

“What?”

“You can’t just decide to fall off the face of the Earth for a while without telling anyone! It’s not fair to any of us.” He sounds genuinely worried, which Molly wasn’t expecting. “I’m going to be your husband. You have to learn to talk to me.”

“I’m sorry,” she whispers. She’s never been more grateful for someone to be worried about her. “I’ll be better.”

“You don’t have to be better,” he murmurs at her. “You just need to talk to me. Okay?”

“Okay,” she says, biting her lip, and nods at the phone though he can’t see. “I promise.”

*

The rest of the year passes seemingly without fuss. Molly goes to her classes and throws herself into her work, refusing to even think about her wedding until she absolutely has to. Sally moves back in and they’re tentatively friends again; it’s weird, everything is weird, but Molly still has Greg. She asks him not to mention the wedding, and he respects that, commenting only on things in her life at the moment. She’s comfortable.

It’s Sally that makes her think about it, Sally that finally looks at her, exasperated, and says “You need to stop leading Greg on like this.”

“What?” Molly frowns, taking her glasses off, and sets them to the side. “What are you talking about?”

“You’re making him think that you’re going to get married, and you’re just not talking to him about it –”

Molly blinks at her. “What are you talking about?”

“You’re not going to marry him.”

Molly laughs, shaking her head. “Yes, I am.”

“No, you’re not. If you were you wouldn’t be this worried; you’d be able to think about it without going into a cold sweat."

“Oh, really?” Molly snaps, slamming her book shut. “Because last time I checked, you’d never been married or even _engaged_ , and I had.”

Sally’s smile is slow, menacing. “You’re right. But I know about you – I’ve known you for _years_ , Molly. You can’t tell me that you’re going to marry him. You can’t convince me.”

“Then I’m not going to try.” Molly frowns. “Consider yourself not my Maid of Honor.”

“What?”

“If you’re going to be this difficult, then you don’t deserve it.” Molly shrugs. “Simple as that,” and she goes back to her work, ignoring Sally’s repeated attempts at talking to her. Finally, Sally tosses her hands up and retreats into her bedroom. It’s only then that Molly looks up, and rubs her temples, scowling.

*

The next morning, there are pancakes (still almost warm) on the table, and a note, written in Sally’s messy writing: _I’m so sorry. I love you. S_

Molly smiles, and eats the pancakes. Today’s going to be a good day.

*

The end of her year at school is wrought with sadness, but also a bit of relief. Now, she doesn’t have to worry; she can sit with Greg and maybe have just a moment.

She and Sally haven’t talked, though. Things are awkward between them; Molly hates it, almost wishes they’d never started anything just so things wouldn’t hurt so much. (It does hurt. It hurts because Molly’s lost her best friend in all of this. She has Greg, yeah, but it’s not the same.)

“Sally?” she whispers, on her last night. Their room is nearly empty. Their things are packed in boxes, all that’s left a couch and an air mattress. She’s taken the mattress; she always hated that couch.

Sally stirs. “Yeah?”

“Are you asleep?” She tucks her arm under her head, nuzzling her cheek against the pillow.

“Mmm. No.”

Molly pauses, just listening to the breathing. “I’m sorry.”

“Yeah?” There’s a rustling of the covers, and then a soft sigh. She’s sleepy but alert; Molly knows.

“I’m sorry. For everything.”

She looks up just in time to see Sally’s smile, glinting in the moonlight just barely coming through the window. “It’s okay, Mols.”

“You sure?” Molly asks, biting her lip.

Sally laughs, and it’s bright and the happiest Molly’s heard her in a long time. “Yeah. I’m sure.”

"I want you to be my Maid of Honor."

"You do?"

"Yeah. Will you do it?"

Sally smiles. "Of course I will."

*

Molly steps off the airplane, shaking her head and cracking her back. “I am never flying again,” she mutters to Sally, rolling her shoulders.

“I know.” Sally leads them to the place where they get their bags, and they stand attentive.

“There!” Molly half-shouts, and Sally grabs them. They finally manage to get out of the throng of people, and Sally collapses against her bag.

“Really. I am never flying again.”

Molly nods, and stands on her tiptoes. “Who’s picking us up?”

Sally just shrugs, a half-smile on her face. “I dunno.”

“What –” But at that, there are hands on her shoulders and she jumps a half foot in the air.

“I got you a present,” the whisper in her ear says, and Molly melts.

“Oh, really?” she asks, spinning around. “What’s that?”

He pulls out a ring box, and Molly frowns. “You do know you already got a ring, yeah?” It glints on her finger.

Greg laughs. “I know. Open it.”

It’s a bracelet; a silver charm bracelet with different charms on them – a computer, a heart, a ring, a cupcake, something that looks like a messed-up circle. “What’s this one?” she asks, about it.

Greg turns a bit pink. “It was supposed to be a cell – for biology, and all. I’m sorry. It’s just hard to find meaningful things in charm form.”

Molly smiles, wide and sunny. “It’s beautiful,” and she means it.

Sally makes a gagging noise. “Can we please go? I’m knackered.”

Greg nods, though he’s still looking at Molly. His eyes are soft. “Yeah, we can.”

*

Molly stays with her parents, at first.

She hadn’t had her own place before, and she doesn’t now; she wants to figure everything out before she jumps into living with Greg. (She’s aware of the irony of agreeing to marry him at the drop of a hat; somehow, it seems like a less big decision than choosing to _live_ with him.)

Her mother has something to say on the subject – “You’re being an idiot,” she says, frank. “He loves you and you need to respect him enough to tell him what you feel.”

“I’m not avoiding him.”

“I didn’t say you were.” Her mother raises an eyebrow as she sips her tea. “You need to talk to him, love.”

“I know.” Molly breathes. “But what if he doesn’t want to marry me if he knows that I’m – goodness, I’m _nervous_ about living with him.”

“That’s fine, that’s normal.” Her mother reaches over, squeezing her hand. “I know this may be difficult for you to hear, but everyone doesn’t actually hate you as much as you think they do."

Molly half-grins, shaking her head. “I don’t think everyone hates me.”

“Oh?” her mother asks, raising an eyebrow. “Because from what I hear, you think that everyone is going to change their opinion at the drop of a hat, without a word from you. Do you think so little of the people you have around you?”

Molly shakes her head. She’s silent for a long moment. When she looks up, she has to twist her mouth to keep from crying. “I don’t want him to leave me.”

“Why would he leave you?”

“I don’t know – but what if he does?” Molly bites her lip. “This isn’t some stupid self-deprecating thing – I know I do that a lot but this is different. It’s – I’m terrified that he’ll look at me one day and realize that I’m not all that he wanted, that he’s made a terrible decision, and leave me.”

Her mother smiles. “You know Greg adores you.”

Molly half-shrugs. “I know.”

“Do you?”

“I just – sometimes, I wonder why he agreed to marry me. It’s not as though it was his idea, was it?” Molly smiles. “I’m sorry. I’ve just been… stressed out, lately.”

Her mother smiles back. “It was his idea, actually.”

“What?”

“He had been talking to me – and he didn’t offer to marry you in order to pay for your school, or for us to use you, but he mentioned that – well, he wouldn’t mind it, if you two ended up together.”

Molly pauses, letting this sink in. “I… didn’t know that.”

“I know you didn’t, dear.” Her mother pats her hand, smiling, and stands up. “He didn’t want you to know. He was worried you’d think – I don’t know.” She shakes her head. “He does love you, though.” She pauses. “Do you love him?”

“Of course I do.” Molly smiles, biting her lip. “I love him more than – well, more than I realized.”

“Good.” Her mother grins. “A lot of people, I think, would tell you that you should date before you get married, or something. I don’t think so. I think you did everything right, okay?”

Molly looks down, nodding. “Yeah.”

“And I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

*

They decide to have the wedding in September; it won’t be big, so Molly doesn’t worry about it.

They plan it together, and sometimes they disagree (Molly’s not sure how Greg went knowing her for twenty years without knowing that she hates fish) but sometimes they don’t (they both want peonies at their wedding) and it’s wonderful.

They pick out rings together, too, and the cake; Molly really doesn’t want this to be a wedding where she decides everything, and neither does Greg.

*

(They don’t wait to have sex. One evening, when they’re just sitting around, not doing much, Molly turns to him and thinks _Yeah_ , and kisses him, hard; it’s different than she usually kisses him.

Greg goes back easily and she smiles, kissing him on the neck, pressing her hips against his, feeling waves of pleasure slide up her. “Is this okay?” she whispers. “Do you want to?"

“Of course I do,” he tells her, and then it’s slow; they kiss slowly, languidly. Greg bites her neck and she shivers all over.

When he slides into her, it takes her a moment to adjust but it doesn’t _hurt_ , per se; she silently curses all of the women that make it sound like it has to be painful the first time.

After, she kisses his neck and he shivers a bit, pleasant.

“I love you,” she whispers. She’s pretty sure there are other things to talk about; there are only a couple of months before her wedding, of course – but she doesn’t want to talk about that. Not now. Now, she just wants to hold him close to her.

“Mmm,” he whispers back, already half-asleep.

She kisses his forehead and rolls onto her side, smiling. She closes her eyes.

*

"What if you made the cake?" Greg asks. He sounds nervous, almost. "I'm not saying you'd have to - I just love your baking."

Molly smiles. "I'd like that, actually."

Greg smiles back at her. "Good," and he kisses her forehead.

(Later, she will think this is a huge mistake; she's never made a wedding cake before and it's a sad thing - but Greg whispers in her ear that he's never tasted anything more delicious,  _except perhaps for you_ , and Molly blushes bright red and pushes at him, laughing.)

*

The wedding day is really, really (and Molly hates to use this word but it’s appropriate) _fucking_ hectic.

They managed to get everything done, somehow; but there are people who don’t want to sit where they are and the minister is late and Molly sort of wants to cry.

“Hey,” Greg whispers, when he catches sight of her heading to the bathroom again. “It’s okay. I love you. It’ll all work out."

She nods.

Sally comforts her, in the end; she sits her down with her date (a pretty older woman named Irene Adler, Molly thinks, having met her maybe twice before) and they get her to breathe.

“It’s nothing to worry about,” Irene says, smiling. “I’ve been married before. It’s not about the day, it’s about the person you’re marrying.” She and Sally share a smile.

Molly frowns at the two of them. “Someday, I’m going to question you guys about this, but for now I just need to… relax.”

“It’ll all work out,” Sally says. As she’s saying that, a man (John, Molly thinks his name is – goodness, she’s terrible at this name thing) pops his head in, eyes covered. “The minister is – stop _touching_ me, Sherlock – he’s here.”

Molly stands up, smiling. “How’s my face look?” she asks.

Sally fixes what Molly assumes is a smudge, and then she smiles. “You look beautiful.”

“It’s a shame you’re getting married,” Irene says, looking her up and down, “otherwise I’d ask you to join Sally and I.”

Molly frowns. “I –”

“I’m joking!” Irene says, waving a hand. “You really do look lovely, dear.” She kisses the top of her hand. “Now get out there and get married.”

*

“I do,” Molly says, and as they kiss she starts crying, just a little bit.

*

(Sherlock tells her that she’d look better if she wore a different shade of lipstick, but that’s after the wedding and she just shakes her head.

And anyway, John grabs him and smacks him and tells Molly she looks wonderful, so there’s that.)

*

They get a limousine to take them to the airport. Molly’s out of her dress, in something smaller, but Greg’s looking at her like she’s the most beautiful woman alive.

“I’m so lucky,” he whispers.

Molly just shakes her head, grinning, and wipes back the tears behind her eyes. “I love you,” she whispers.

Greg grabs her hand, and smiles at her.

The rest of their life can start now, Molly thinks, and she lies her head against Greg’s shoulder.

She closes her eyes.


End file.
